


Coffee

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond’s never seen Lindir so disheveled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Given their jobs and schedules, Elrond hasn't ever really seen Lindir before breakfast by which time he's already dressed and organised to perfection but one morning something happens that prompts Elrond to have to awaken Lindir himself and he is dumbstruck by the vision Lindir makes upon just waking up. The frightfully messy hair, half open eyes, mumbling voice, relatively skimpy nightclothes; all that stuff. It's the most adorable and frankly sexy thing he's ever seen” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=26336258).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He hasn’t been to Lindir’s chambers in years. There’s rarely a good reason for it, and as much as Elrond would enjoy spending time with his young assistant outside the confines of duty, it wouldn’t feel right. He has no wish to take advantage or impose, and some days it’s difficult enough to keep from drifting too close when he talks or letting his gaze linger too long. Lindir always comes to him first, neatly polished with everything in place. 

But this morning, Elrond has need of him early. Elrond’s sword is missing, and Lindir will surely know where it is, as Lindir keeps tight governance over all of Elrond’s things. On any other day, Elrond would simply wait until after breakfast when Lindir will inevitably arrive, but Elladan and Elrohir won’t wait that long. They mean to ride out shortly. But they want to spar with their father first, and he’d promised to do so, if only to enjoy a fair morning with his beloved sons before another lengthy departure—they’ve long ago honed their skills beyond what he could teach them.

He reaches Lindir’s quarters without incident, though two separate elves he passes greet him and offer to fetch whatever he needs. He sees no need to trouble anyone when he’s already nearly there, and then he’s outside the door. He’s struck with the sudden thought that not only has he never been here this early, he’s never _seen_ Lindir this early.

When he first knocks on the door, he receives no response, perhaps because he’s done so too lightly, feeling somewhat guilty for waking his already hard-working Lindir. He lifts his hand again, only to catch a quiet, muffled, “ _Come in,_ ” through the door.

The voice isn’t what Elrond’s used to. It’s Lindir’s, but slightly slurred and heavy, instead of the crisp, melodic tones he usually utters. Elrond gently opens the door anyway, creaking it just wide enough to slip inside.

He shuts it on instinct behind him and walks forward, partially without thinking: his feet are drawn forward of their own accord. The bed’s only a little ways from the door, large and high with pure white sheets. The early light’s already streaming in through the open balcony. It bathes Lindir’s lithe form in a soft glow. He’s sitting up in bed, first yawning with his eyes still shut, and then rubbing tiredly at them with his fingers cutely curled in like a paw.

All of him looks _cute_ , and Elrond stops at the side of the bed with a strange clenching of his chest. It’s clear that he’s woken Lindir up; everything of Lindir is sleep-addled. His posture is normally so rigid, but here he’s half bent forward, like scrunched into a little ball, with the blankets fallen haphazardly across his lap. His dark hair is a dreadful mess, uneven and sticking up in places, fluffier than usual and fuzzy at the ends. Some of it’s down his shoulder, the rest down his back, some in his face. His nightgown, a thin, lacy thing that clings to his skin but falls loosely after, has fallen down his shoulder, revealing an almost lewd amount of creamy skin. With one eye still mostly closed and the other still rubbed with the back of his hand, Lindir mumbles sleepily, “I’m sorry; I must have slept in...”

Another yawn, and Lindir drops his hand to cover his mouth. He’s become a vision caught strangely between adorable and oddly _sensual_ , his beauty magnified in its rawness. When his hand drops, Lindir half-opens both eyes, looks blearily up at Elrond, and then they fly right open.

His mouth follows suit, and it draws Elrond’s attention to it. There’s a tiny crusting of white flakes at the side, almost unnoticeable, likely dried saliva. The idea of Lindir drooling in his sleep is both absurd and comical, and unexpectedly gives Elrond the highly inappropriate urge to lick the evidence away. Lindir, vulnerable and alluring and too sweet for his own good, quickly draws his blankets up around himself, as though he’s the indecent one that needs to cover his exposed body. He spouts a cleaner yet still murmured, “M-my lord, I am so sorry—”

Lifting a hand to silence him, Elrond insists, “There is nothing to apologize for. You have not overslept. I simply have need of my sword.”

Lindir bites the corner of his lip, and it takes him a second longer to think than usual. With his cheeks flushing a light pink, he answers, “It is being sharpened, my lord. I can fetch it for you.” He immediately lifts his fingers to his hair, attempting to quickly comb the wild fray back with them, though they’re mostly ineffectual against the bird nest that Lindir’s hair has become. At the same time, he turns as though to leave the bed, but Elrond blocks him by way of remaining still.

“That will not be necessary. I can retrieve it myself.”

Lindir’s hands pause in his hair, then flatten over it as though to hide an abomination from his master’s eyes. He lowers his gaze in such reverence, murmuring, “I apologize, my lord. Both for failing to anticipate your needs and to appear to you as such a mess.”

Elrond doesn’t even address the sword issue, which isn’t even remotely Lindir’s fault, because he’s busy blurting, “On the contrary, you have never looked so lovely.” Then his jaw abruptly closes. There have been very, very few times in Elrond’s life, especially his later years, where he’s said anything without thought. Lindir looks up at him in complete surprise, and his blush steadily increases, until he’s flushed right to the tips of his elegant ears. He seems struck speechless. His hands fall away from his hair but do no more. 

Elrond clears his throat. He hurriedly announces, “I apologize for waking you,” then nods his head politely and turns. Despite his want to say, he walks swiftly to the door. 

He’s only just opened it when Lindir calls after him, “My lord.”

Pausing in the doorway, Elrond glances back to his beautiful assistant. Quiet but more awake, Lindir murmurs, “Please, do not apologize. You know that I am yours any time, do you not?” His face is nothing but sincere. It takes a great deal of strength for Elrond to not return to him. 

On any other occasion, Elrond would correct the wording: he owns no one. Here, he merely nods his head in gratitude. He leaves before he can say anymore. As he closes the door behind himself and proceeds down the hall, he tires not to read too much into Lindir’s words and the soft, warm want in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Sketch of sleepy Lindir [here.](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/130314522705/sketch-of-lindir-when-elronds-woken-him-up-too)


End file.
